


Sympatico

by celluloidbroomcloset



Category: The Avengers (TV)
Genre: F/M, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 19:59:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3949759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celluloidbroomcloset/pseuds/celluloidbroomcloset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A slightly AU fic, taking place on Steed and Mrs. Peel's wedding night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sympatico

Emma splashed water on her face and regarded her dripping reflection in the mirror. It was ridiculous. Patently ridiculous: the turning of her stomach, the tingle in her fingertips, the rapid beating of her heart. Nerves. But nervous about what? It wasn’t as though she was a blushing young bride; she was a grown woman with one marriage already under her belt. But things had been different with Peter. She hadn’t been nervous on their wedding night – quite relaxed, actually. And she knew, with a touch of shame, that what she felt for Steed was far deeper, more elemental, more complete than the love she had with her ex-husband. Perhaps that was why her stomach was trying to work its way towards her heart.

 

She looked at the nightgown hanging on the door. Purchased especially for that evening, it had none of the frills that Steed so despised, and none of the complex fastenings that she found ridiculous. Why it was considered sexy to make lingerie next to impossible to get out of had always perplexed her. Luckily Steed, despite some of his proclivities, agreed with her on that subject.

 

But she didn’t put the nightgown on. Instead she sat down on the closed lid of the toilet and tried to quell the turning of her stomach. How many times had they been to bed together over the years? How many positions, how many experiments, how many different ways to please each other made up the sum total of their lives together? Yet here she was, shaking in her slip, while he waited on the other side of the bathroom door. This was the first time they would be together as husband and wife, but that should not have made such a difference.

 

It was also the first time in their lives together when she was no longer Emma Peel. The name would always be there, a fond, shared memory, but it no longer belonged to her. She’d made the choice to take his name, although he said it was not necessary. If she’d taken Peter’s name, she could certainly take Steed’s.

 

Emma rose and removed her nightgown off the hook. She wondered what she would call him now. John? She’d called him John off and on for years, a private name only used at the most intimate of moments. Never in public, though. Now it would seem odd if she continued to address him as Steed.

 

She caught her reflection again in the mirror.

 

“You’re stalling, Emma,” she told it. “Well, stop. It’s Steed.”

 

With a speed that belied the thumping of her heart, she got out of her slip and into the nightgown.

 

Steed paced the floor. He was not ordinarily a pacing man. A strolling man, a sauntering man, but not a pacing man. As he paced, a glass of champagne in one hand, he toyed idly with the new band on his finger. Brand new. It looked good on him, he thought, even better for what it represented – union with the finest woman he knew, their love, their devotion, and his promise to her. Love and honor and all those fine phrases that had seemed, until that day, to be merely form. When he looked into her eyes there at the altar, he understood just what he was promising. He’d promised it every day he’d known her, even though he’d never put it into words. She was all in all to him.

 

Which did not change one or two things. He’d never been married. Though the union itself should not really change their relationship, he felt somehow that this night, this one night, was different. Mrs. Steed. She’d insisted on the name change, despite all his protestations to the contrary. She was very vague about her reasons, but names between them always meant a great deal. She was no longer Mrs. Peel. Well, she was, but she was also his wife. And she was taking a very long time in the bathroom.

 

Steed had gone so far as to remove his coat and shoes and undo his tie, but otherwise he was still fully clothed. He didn’t know what was expected – whether it would seem too eager to simply strip off and jump beneath the covers.

 

“Too eager?” Steed asked the empty room. “What damned stupid thing to say.”

 

Of course, she seemed as nervous as he was – though he thought he concealed it rather well – and only drank half her glass of champagne before departing to “slip into something more comfortable,” as the saying goes. The room without her was the definition of a deafening silence. Steed could hear his own heart beating, far too fast. Of all the things he’d been in his life, a nervous bridegroom was not one of them until now.

 

Sipping his own champagne to calm himself, he walked to the window. The day had been a lovely one, the night not so lovely. The pattering rain that began on the ride to the hotel had now transformed into an all-out flood. The streets outside were bright with water, and city lights refracted through the rain. From his vantage point in the top floor bridal suite, Steed could see the tiny figures of rain coated men and women rushing through the water, hoping to get back to home and hearth before they caught pneumonia. It made him feel warm to be inside, with the rain striking the window. If only his stomach would stop turning circles, it would have been very pleasant indeed.

 

Steed heard the click of the bathroom door opening and turned so fast he splashed some of the champagne onto his cuffs. She stood backlit by the light from the bathroom, her auburn hair shimmering like a warm red halo around her head. He couldn’t see what she was wearing, though he was reasonably certain she wasn’t naked. The whole effect was…not quite angelic, but finer, more earthy than that. More real.

 

Emma turned off the light and he was able to see her better. He ran over all the adjectives he could think of, but not one of them did her justice, not to the soul, the fire that lit her beyond beauty. She was aesthetically attractive, of course – and the diaphanous nightgown that came just above her knees, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of her long legs, accentuated that beauty. But she was so much more.

 

“You look…lovely,” he said, a paltry excuse for a compliment to one’s new bride, but it was the best he could do at the moment.

 

“So do you,” she replied. He thought he detected a slight smirk.

 

“Umm…would you like the rest of your champagne?”

 

Steed wondered if this was what married life would do to him.

 

“That would be nice.”

 

He picked up her glass from the bedside table and crossed the room to her. As he passed it into her hand, their fingers touched, as they had so many times before. The light caught the ring on her finger, making it sparkle. His mother’s ring, one of the few things she left him and the only thing he attached much sentimental value to. He raised his eyes to Emma’s. They sparkled too.

 

 

“Emma,” Steed said, closing his hand around hers on the glass. She hoped he could not feel her shaking as he brought her close. He kissed her; a delicate, almost chaste kiss, so unlike him. Their kiss at the wedding had been almost inappropriately arousing. Now that they were alone, he kissed her like he was afraid to break her. When he drew away, she saw an expression of confusion, even near terror, on his face. It was…comical. Her mouth twitched. Very comical.

 

Just like that, the tension broke. She began it, a tiny chuckle that start in her stomach and rolled up into her chest and throat. Then it burst out of her. Emma covered her mouth and leaned into his chest, trying hard to stifle the peals of laughter. But he was laughing too. His free hand rested lightly on her bare shoulder and chest shook against her forehead. They both laughed, laugh so hard they were in danger of spilling the very expensive champagne all over the very expensive carpet.

 

“Oh, Steed,” she was finally able to say. “Oh, darling, I’m terribly nervous.”

 

“So am I,” he returned, smiling.

 

He drew a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed her watering eyes with it.

 

“It’s silly isn’t it?” She looked up into his dear face. “I’ve never been this nervous.”

 

“How do you think I feel? I’ve never been with a married woman before.”

 

Emma tapped his nose. “That is not strictly true.”

 

“Well, I’ve never been with my own wife, then.” He smiled down at her. “My wife.”

 

“My husband.” She held her glass up. “To you, Mr. Steed.”

 

“To you, Mrs…Steed. I’m going to have to get used to that.”

 

“You’ll have plenty of time.”

 

They touched glasses. Steed leaned down to kiss her again.

 

Now there was the Steed she knew. Deep, hot, insistent, lips parting her own and tongue seeking hers with that familiar teasing manner. As the tension had broken earlier, so too did their resolve. Glasses clattered to the floor, expensive champagne forgotten. Emma leaned forward to feel his strong body against her own. His hands went into her hair, cradling her head. A new, altogether more pleasant sensation invaded her core. Anticipation still, but a wonderful sort of anticipation now.

 

Steed stepped back, just a little, to regard the new nightgown.

 

“I haven’t seen this one before.”

 

“Something new,” she said. “Like it?” She swung the hem a little coyly.

 

“Marvelous.” He smiled that warm, joyful smile that crinkled his eyes at the edges and lit up his entire face. “We have quite a view here, you know.”

 

“I didn’t get a chance to look at it.”

 

Emma went to the window and looked out across the city, bathed in rain. She felt more at ease now, and could actually enjoy the view. Steed stepped up behind her and snaked an arm about her waist. His mouth touched her shoulder. She leaned back into him, enjoying the feel of his shirt against her bare back.

 

“It was raining the day we met,” she said.

 

He rested his chin on her shoulder. “It was not. You had the top down on the Lotus.”

 

She chuckled. “You tried to blame me.”

 

“Who rear-ended who?” Another kiss to her shoulder. “Fiery auburn-haired beauty. You had me from the moment you began yelling at me.”

 

“I was furious.”

 

“You were glorious.”

 

“Oh, admit it, Steed, you were just as angry.” She looped her arm back to hold his head.

 

“I told you women didn’t belong behind the wheel of a car.”

 

“Sexist bastard. I did call the Bentley a bucket of bolts.”

 

“Most unkind to the old girl.”

 

They were silent for a moment. Emma recalled that day – even in the midst of her anger, she’d been conscious of how attractive he was. Many years later, her attraction to him had not really changed from that first moment, but she had learned that beneath that insouciant, even cynical, façade there was a man more loyal, more loving than any she’d known before or since.

 

“When did you first know you loved me?” she asked, quietly.

 

Steed tightened his grasp on her waist. “I don’t know there was a specific moment. I think I always loved you.” He paused. “Was there a moment for you?”

 

“Mmhm. Right after that dreadful business with PSEV. I wanted to break it off, end everything.”

 

“But you didn’t.”

 

“I realized why I was so angry. Those few minutes, when I thought I’d lost you, I felt so…empty. Like I could and would go on living, but it wouldn’t mean anything. It would just be going through the motions. You’d become as integral a part of me as my blood or my bones. It was wonderful and terrifying, Steed. I knew that I’d fallen in love with you.”

 

It was something she’d never told him. For a moment, he was silent. Then he pressed his lips to her ear.

 

“Flesh of my flesh,” he whispered. “My one true wife.”

 

Emma closed her eyes. She ran her palm across the arm that encircled her, seeking and finding his hand. She touched the gold wedding band on his finger. She’d told him it wasn’t necessary, but he insisted. A part of her, he said, to always keep with him, even when they were apart.

 

Steed’s mouth grazed her shoulder again. Small, delicate kisses at first, as his free hand roved down over her abdomen and then went lower, touching her through the nightgown. She arched back. She didn’t want to stand up anymore. Without another word, they went to the bed.

 

Emma lay on the big bed, watching him undress. She did not try to touch him, only watched. Smooth, compact movements, precise but with a languid ease that marked the way he did everything. She loved watching his strong body bared, the play of the light on his skin, dancing over the puckered scars from an eventful life. He was still Steed. Still the same genial, genteel, generous man she fell in love with; the same man who drove her mad with his insouciance, his flippancy, and surprised her in his kindness and deep sense of honor. Still her knight in tarnished armor. Her friend, her partner, her lover. Her husband.

 

His wife. As Steed turned off the light and took his place beside her, he marveled at that word. He would not have said that he never considered marriage, but his profession and his guarded independence conspired to convince him it was a poor idea. Until her. He would have married her long ago, if she’d have him, but for many years it made better sense to remain lovers without that formality between them. Now, as he took her into his arms, he was both glad they had waited, and sorrowful that it had taken so long.

 

Her mouth sought his in a long kiss that increased in intensity as his hands roved over her body, still covered by the diaphanous gown. He knew this body so well – the roundness of her breasts, fuller now than before yet still the perfect size for his hands. The lissome muscularity of her torso which arched against him in a slow rhythm that brought him to immediate arousal. Her long legs, one of which now rose up over his hip as he ran his hand down her thigh, indicating without baring the heated sex between them. He knew it all so well, and it delighted him.

 

Emma explored the contours of his arms, the tightening of the muscles as he touched her. He trembled when she caressed him and she felt the need to reassure him that nothing had changed. She knew what he liked. She ran her fingers down his chest, circling each nipple with the very tips of her nails until she heard the familiar whoosh of his breath. Then she lowered her head, kissing his chest, licking those hard nubs until he groaned, a masculine grunt that made her smile against his skin. His skin tasted salty, his scent invaded her core. She raised her hips so they rolled against his, pressing his erection between her legs.

 

Steed didn’t want to wait any longer – he wanted to feel her skin against his own. He rose above her and peeled the nightgown up over her head. Her breasts moved with her arms as she stretched upwards to help him. Fully naked now, her eyes met his and for a moment Steed was amazed that this woman, this spectacular human being, could love and want and desire him as he did her. Sitting on his knees, he placed one hand over her left breast and began to rub, moving his thumb lightly over her hardened pink nipple. She whimpered as he ran his hand over her other breast, the flesh puckering at his touch. She was so supple yet so strong, so independent yet so willing to give all of herself, and he felt such joy and pride in seeing her pleasure.

 

Emma slid her hands up over his shoulders as he fondled her. Her fingers stroked the base of his skull to make the short hairs stood on end. When his calloused palms pressed down on her skin, it sent electric tingles from one end of her body to the other. She opened her eyes and saw him watching her, his breaths coming slow and steady but deep, as he controlled his own arousal. She locked her hand around his neck.

 

“Come here, John,” she whispered.

 

He did not need to be asked a second time. He let her draw him down into a hard, open-mouthed kiss, tongues and lips delving. Her soft breasts met his chest. Her legs spread wide and he pressed against her, rubbing against her until she moaned.

 

Steed buried his face in her neck and took in her scent – her skin, her arousal, the remains of her floral perfume. He loved her, loved her to distraction, loved her beyond reason, and all of the other cliches he'd laughed at before. He had always done things by intuition, borne along by whatever force within him that operated not on logic but on feeling. And he’d known from the day he first met her, intuitively, that they would come to this. He had never tried to banish his love for her, not even when it hurt him the most. He knew, somehow, in some future that at times seemed so distant he almost despaired, that they would find each other again.

 

“Flesh of my flesh,” she said, as though a response to his own thoughts. Steed drew back and kissed her mouth as he brought his hands down to separate her shapely limbs.

 

He was there; she could feel him as he eased into her. Another instance in the long line of sympathy with each other, for how could a man fit her so perfectly if they had not been made with the other in mind? Emma raised her legs and moved her hips a little, making him as much a part of her as he could ever be. He rose up on his elbows and looked down at her, his face the reflection of her own amazement. She moved first, in the slow familiar rhythm. She grasped his arm, squeezing the muscle hard every time a small ripple of pleasure went through her body.

 

There was no way to describe the comfort, the pleasure of being inside of her. It seemed their entire relationship boiled down to his inability to codify how she made him feel, the ecstasy not just of sex but of love, of being with a woman who knew him, who matched him, complemented him. With every thrust he could see her come nearer to the peak, hear her moans, increasing in volume and fervor, as tender words passed her lips. Her hands sought purchase on his back, her thighs tightened around his waist, and internal muscles gripped him, urging him to take her there.

 

Emma heard Steed’s moans as though from afar, her mind beginning to separate from her body. She heard her name repeated over and over in that husky register he used when he was intensely aroused. Not that she much doubted that – he was hard and deep inside her, and with every meticulous thrust and withdrawal he seemed to penetrate farther. There was nothing like it, no sensation so delightful, or so overwhelming. She cried out for him – she knew how he loved to hear her pleasure as well as see it – and it was easy, so easy. She wanted it to go on forever, but she could feel herself nearing the summit, and the wildness in him too that increased with every plunge.

 

Part of him wanted to pull her back and not let it end, but it was inevitable. Her head fell back, body arched up, mouth open for a moment in a soundless cry that suddenly found voice as her orgasm pulsed around him. It was the most wonderful sound, the most wonderful feeling, and for as long as he could he going he did, drawing out her pleasure until he couldn’t stand it any more, could no more stop himself than he could stop his heart beating.

 

As her orgasm waned and she returned to earth, Emma felt Steed’s begin. She saw his eyes close, felt his muscles tighten, his arms trembling as he supported himself. The pressure released and the warm rush filled her body. She grabbed his thighs and held him deep as he emptied into her; his final thrusts short and irregular, his final groan one of profound satisfaction. His whole sturdy frame shook until he could no longer support himself, and fell forward, keeping his weight off her by the strength of his broad arms.

 

“My darling,” Emma whispered, kissing his shoulder.

 

“How do you…like married life, Mrs. Steed?” His attempt at flippancy was slightly belied by the breathless tones in which he uttered it.

 

Emma laughed. “I might be able to get used to it.”

 

Steed rolled over onto his back.

 

“And you, Mr. Steed? Does marriage agree with you?”

 

“Passable.” He turned his head and grinned at her. “One can’t complain.”

 

“I should think not.” She gave his stomach a playful slap and sat up. “Oh. The champagne. Dom Perrignon, all over the carpet.”

 

“Never mind. All in a good cause.”

 

Steed struggled out of bed to pick up their two glasses from the floor, and the remainder of the bottle from where it rested on the sideboard.

 

“How many bottles do you suppose we’ve had together?” He poured out the glasses until they almost overflowed.

 

“Hundreds. Thousands. We’ve kept the champagne industry alive and well. I consider it our contribution to the Continental economy.”

 

Steed nodded. “We deserve the Legion d’Honneur.”

 

“I personally think we’re underappreciated.” Emma smiled. Steed smiled.

 

Reclining against the headboard, they finished the bottle. Emma rested her head on his shoulder as lethargy overcame her. She thought of how little things had changed, and how much. Her early nerves were gone, replaced with a warm serenity as she thought of the years that lay ahead, colored and characterized by all that had gone before. Her husband shifted slightly and looped his arm about her.

 

“Mrs. Steed,” said his soft, laughing voice in her ear. “You’re needed.”


End file.
